Christopher's Shoes
by Sennalyn
Summary: This story was inspired by seeing all those sneakers hanging from the power lines and wondering how they got there. Complete.


**Christopher's Shoes**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _"Emergency!"_ and its characters are owned by Mark VII Productions and Universal Studios. No infringement of any copyrights or trademarks is intended in any way, shape, or form. This is just a story, and is meant for fun, nothing else. Enjoy!

* * *

Christopher DeSoto walked briskly down the sidewalk, his friends Jason Mitchell and Alex Richards on either side of him. His backpack was heavy with textbooks, notebooks, pens, and pencils, but he was able to keep up a steady pace. Jason and Alex were panting under the burden of their own overloaded backpacks, but managed to stay at his side. Chris' brand new Nike gym shoes, the laces tied together to form a handle, dangled from his fingers. The boys quickened their pace when they heard the piercing cry behind them. 

"Chris! _Chris!_ You were supposed to wait for me, and walk me home! _Chris!_ Wait up! I'm telling mom!"

"Man, little sisters are a real _pain_!" exclaimed Jason, looking back to see Chris' little sister Jennifer running to catch up to them.

"Uh, huh," Chris agreed, rolling his eyes. "Especially _mine_! Come on!"

The boys chucked as they started to jog up the street. They rounded the corner onto Meadowlark Lane, where they all lived just a few houses away from each other, when Chris ran right into a brick wall, also known as Simon Twitty, the neighbourhood bully. The impact of the smaller boy hitting the larger one sent the smaller one sprawling backwards onto the sidewalk. Chris put his right hand out to stop his fall, and cried out as the impact sent a sharp, shooting pain up his wrist. He sat up, cradling the injured limb with his left hand, willing himself not to cry.

"Hey, DeSoto! Watch where you're going, you little fxxxxx!"

Chris winced at the foul word that flew from the boy's mouth. He'd only ever heard that word a few times, and that was when the Twitty's from across the street were out on their front lawn fighting. His mother and father never used that kind of language, and Chris recalled being severely punished for using it once himself.

_"I will NOT have that language used in this house! Do you hear me, Christopher George DeSoto?"_

_"Yes, daddy.__ I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say it! It just came out!"_

_"Well, you make sure it doesn't 'just come out' again! Now, go to your room. You're grounded for a MONTH!"_

That was about the only time Chris could remember his father yelling at him, or yelling at all, for that matter. His father rarely got angry, mostly because there was very little for him to get angry about. Chris' family was very different from the Twitty's, who always seemed to find something to get angry and yell and swear about.

Now, Chris looked up into the angry red face of the middle Twitty child, Simon. Simon was in the sixth grade (again!), but he was rarely at school because he was usually always suspended. He was big for his age, and very, very mean. Chris was in the fifth grade, and his father preached pacifism. Chris tried to swallow, but found the task difficult as his mouth went suddenly dry. He looked around and noticed his friends were no longer there.

_Hmmph_ Chris thought disgustingly. _They must be what my mom calls 'fair weather friends.' Always around when it's fun, but never there when you need them._

Chris struggled to stand, dropping his Nikes so he could use his left hand to lean on. Before he'd even risen to a crouch, a sudden, painful blow to his stomach sent him sprawling backwards again. Chris cried out, clutching his injured wrist and now his middle as well. He struggled to breathe, writhing on the sidewalk, barely registering the mocking laughter of the bully.

"C'mon, get up, you little pxxxx!" Simon said, his hands tight fists by his side. "Get up!"

Chris blinked to clear the tears from his eyes, hoping against hope they wouldn't run down his face and give Simon something else to mock him about. He struggled to sit up again.

"I'm sorry, Simon! I didn't mean to run into you! I didn't see you there!" Chris tried to placate the bully, hoping to calm the kid down, so he'd go away.

"Oh? Well, maybe you need glasses then, you little sxxx!"

"Yeah, I probably do," Chris said, employing his father's pacifist tactic of agreeing with the bully. He looked up at Simon, and noticed it seemed to be working: Simon's fingers were slowly relaxing, and the boy's face wasn't as red with rage.

"Well, I _might_ just let it go, this time, DeSoto, but you watch your step from now on!" Simon growled. "Oh, and I'm gonna need some payment for this little inconvenience."

"I . . . I don't have any money right now," Chris said, panicking. "But I can give you my lunch money tomorrow! Really! I promise!"

"I don't want your damn money, DeSoto," Simon yelled. "I want . . . I want . . ."

The boy thought hard, trying to figure out what he could get out of his young victim. Suddenly a smile spread across his face.

"I want your _shoes_!"

Chris blanched as he followed Simon's gaze to the new pair of Nikes lying haphazardly on the sidewalk beside him.

_Oh, God, no!_ he thought. _Not my new shoes! Mom and Dad will KILL me!_

Aloud he said. "I can't give you my new shoes! My mom just got them for me and my dad said they were real expensive! He'd kill me if I lost them!"

"Aw, poor baby," Simon said in a mocking baby talk, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together in Chris' face. "Here's the world's smallest violin playing just for you! Now gimme those goddamn shoes!"

Before Chris could react, Simon swooped down and grabbed the shoes by the laces, and held them close to his chest.

"Please, Simon, please don't take my shoes!" Chris wailed, currently beyond the point of caring how he looked or sounded.

Simon stood over him, swinging the shoes by the laces just out of Chris' reach, an evil grin on his face.

"Oh, I'm not gonna _take_ them," the boy said. "I'm just gonna make sure _you_ can't have them either!"

With that, Simon stepped back into the empty street, and started swinging the shoes harder. Chris' heart pounded painfully in his chest as he realized what the bully intended to do with the Nikes. A cry welled up in his throat, but when he opened his mouth, no sound came out. Chris watched horrified as his brand new gym shoes were tossed into the air, and arched ever so gracefully up towards the darkening sky, before landing across the phone line to dangle helplessly by the knotted laces.

Chris didn't bother to hide the tears any longer, and his vision of the shoes blurred as the salty water filled his eyes and fell down his face. He could hear Simon's laughter fading down the street.

Sensing a presence behind him, and assuming it was his so-called friends, Chris yelled sarcastically, "Thanks for the backup, guys! I hope I never have to count on either of you to watch my back . . ."

He stopped when he turned around and saw not his friends, but his little sister standing over him looking scared and worried.

"Sorry, Jen, I didn't know it was you."

"It's okay, Chris. Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay, you dummy! That axxxxxx tossed my new shoes up onto the phone line!" Chris yelled, pain and anger combining to make him irritable.

"I'm telling mom you said a bad word!"

"I really don't care what you do!" Chris grumbled, struggling to stand up. His stomach and wrist throbbed with pain, and his heart ached as he imagined the looks of disappointment and anger on his parents' faces when they found out he'd lost his new shoes.

"Come on, Chris, let's just go home," Jenny said quietly, touching Chris' arm, and petting it a bit. "I think mom's gonna have to take you to the hospital for that." She indicated Chris' swollen wrist.

Defeated, Chris sighed. "Yeah, I guess."

As the two children moved away, Chris gave his Nikes one last longing look, then stopped.

"Wait, Jen! I think I can get the shoes!"

"What? Are you crazy?"

"No, look, Jen!" Chris pointed to the telephone pole sticking out of the sidewalk beside them.

"Yeah, it's a phone pole. So what?" Jenny asked.

"So, the shoes aren't _too_ far away from the pole! I can just climb up on these things," Chris pointed to the metal wrung placed alternately up either side of the pole. "Like the repairmen do!"

"Chris, you _are_ crazy!"

"No, I'm not! Here, just watch my backpack," Chris said, shrugging out of the heavy pack, mindful of his injured wrist.

"How're you gonna climb with that hand?" Jenny asked, moving to stand beside Chris' discarded backpack.

Chris considered this a moment, then said, "It's not too bad. I think it's just sprained. Ill be careful. I have to get those shoes!"

"Chris, _please_ let's go home!" Jenny pleaded. "We can call daddy and have him bring the fire truck and a ladder to get them down!"

"NO! Dad can't know about this - EVER! He'll kill me if he found out I lost my shoes!"

"But, you didn't lose them, Chris, they were stol . . ."

"Shut up, Jennifer! Now come over here and kneel down," Chris instructed.

"Why?"

"I need to climb up on your back to reach the first wrung."

Jenny pouted, but did as he asked, getting down on her hands and knees beside the phone pole. Chris carefully flexed the fingers on his right hand, biting his lip against the pain, but at the same time grateful for the movement. He knew his wrist was injured, and knew he would probably have to see a doctor about it. He wanted nothing more than for his father and Uncle Johnny to come racing up in their shiny red squad, splint his arm and take him to the hospital, but that just wasn't going to happen. He sniffled, and wiped his face on the sleeve of his uninjured arm. This was no time to be a wuss; he needed to get those shoes!

Chris carefully climbed onto his sister's back, and reached up to grab the first metal wrung with his good hand. He pulled himself up, and wrapped his legs around the pole, digging his heels into the splintering wood. Alternately using his uninjured hand to pull and his heels to push, Chris slowly made his way up the pole. Once he was high enough, he took his hand off the wrung, and wrapped his arms around the pole as best he could, continuing to shimmy up using his feet.

_This isn't so bad,_ he thought, gritting his teeth as his wrist and stomach protested painfully. _It's just like climbing the rope in P.E.!_

Soon, he was able to reach the second wrung with his sore hand, and put his foot on the lower wrung, using it to push himself up, only using his hand to steady himself, while continuing to cling to the pole with his good arm. He rested a minute, panting from the pain and the effort. His wrist throbbed, and his stomach ached, but he had to go on. He looked down and saw his sister standing there looking up at him. She was illuminated by the streetlight that had come on in the dimming light of late afternoon. He had to hurry. Mom would have a cow if they were late for dinner.

Chris twisted his head to look up to where his shoes dangled from the line, the movement making him dizzy. He clutched the rough wood of the phone pole harder as the neighbourhood spun around him. His face broke out into a sweat, and he started to feel light and fuzzy. He concentrated on breathing in and out, willing the world to stop moving.

He thought he could hear his sister calling to him, but she sounded so far away. Chris started to feel like he was floating, like he was flying. Yeah, flying! That was it! He could _fly_ up and get his shoes! It was a brilliant idea, and it was Chris' last coherent thought before the blackness sucked him in.

* * *

"Dinner, guys!" Marco Lopez's voice drifted into the Captain's office, followed by his footsteps as he headed down towards the open door. Poking his head in the door, he said, "C'mon guys! Dinner's on!" 

"Okay, Marco, we're on our way," Roy DeSoto responded not taking his eyes off the run log he and his partner, Johnny Gage, were desperately trying to get caught up. They'd had a busy day, and hadn't had time to fill in the log in between runs. As much as they wanted to go get food as quickly as possible before their next call, they also wanted to finish the log. They were so close - only a couple more runs to write down.

"This one, the difficult breathing, that's next," Johnny said, handing Roy the slip he'd scribbled details of the run on.

"Are you sure?" Roy asked. "I could've sworn the guy with his hand stuck in the garbage disposal was after the heart attack we responded to at 2:30."

"No," Johnny insisted. "I'm pretty sure the difficult breathing was next, then the stuck hand, and finally the lady who fainted at the Laundromat."

Roy smiled as he remembered the petite blonde girl who'd apparently stood up to get her towels from the dryer, and suddenly collapsed. Her husband was beside himself with worry when they arrived, and Roy was afraid for a while they'd have two victims on their hands. The young woman had regained consciousness while they were treating her, but Dr. Brackett ordered her transported to the hospital so they could run tests. The results of the first one came back quickly, and Johnny and Roy were still at the base station getting supplies, when the young man came up and excitedly told them he and his wife were going to have a baby.

"That's why she fainted," the man said, practically jumping up and down with excitement. "Pregnant women just faint sometimes!"

He'd rushed off before either Johnny or Roy could say, "Congratulations!" The two paramedics had chuckled about it the whole way back to the station.

Johnny's growling stomach brought Roy out of his reverie. He shot an amused glance at his partner, who blushed.

"Sorry," Johnny said. "I guess I'm a little hungry!"

"Well, Junior, we didn't get lunch because of that heart attack, and we've been on the run ever since then," Roy reminded him. He looked at the mess of papers on the desk in front of him. Slamming the logbook closed, Roy proclaimed: "Forget this, let's go eat!"

Johnny grinned. "That's the best idea you've had all day, Pally!"

The two men made their way out of the Captain's office and had just reached the doorway to the kitchen when the tones sounded.

_"Station 51, child injured, meet the informant at the corner of __Meadowlark Lane__ and __Ash Street__. Meadowlark and Ash. Time out: 1830."_

Roy grabbed the mic to acknowledge the call while quickly writing the information down on two sheets of paper.

"Station 51, 10-4, KMG-365."

Roy turned and gave one of the pieces of paper to Captain Stanley, who was now standing behind him, and took the other one with him to the squad. Johnny was already seated in the passenger side, his helmet on, peering intently at a map. Roy handed him the paper, and Johnny took it distractedly.

"Hey, Roy," Johnny said, looking over at his partner. "Don't you live on Meadowlark Lane?"

"Yeah," Roy answered turning the key in the ignition, a flash of panic shooting through him. _Just down the street from Ash!_

Swallowing his panic, Roy put the squad into gear, and turning on the siren and lights, pulled out of the station with Captain Stanley and the engine crew following behind. He remained silent though the trip as did Johnny, with the exception of his announcements of _"you're clear"_ when they came to an intersection. He didn't need to give Roy directions to the incident since it was right in Roy's own neighbourhood, and he could tell his partner was in no mood for conversation, so for once he kept his mouth shut when it wasn't needed.

Roy pulled the squad up to the corner of Meadowlark and Ash, and his gut twisted when he saw the woman who was waving them down. Rolling down the window, Roy called out to her. "Joanne! What is it?"

"Oh, Roy, hurry! It's Chris! He fell! He's not moving!"

"Calm down, honey, now where is he?"

"Down there!" Joanne DeSoto pointed towards a couple of shadowed blobs on the sidewalk about half way up the block. Roy pulled the squad around and pulled into the curb near them. He leapt out of the squad and Joanne immediately went into his arms. Johnny began grabbing equipment and headed over to the injured child.

"Joanne, what happened?" Roy asked, trying to remain calm.

Joanne took a deep breath to calm herself, and told Roy what she knew: "I was just setting the table for dinner. It was getting late and I was wondering where the kids were. I had told Chris to walk Jennifer home from the bus stop, but I figured they got caught up playing with some friends when they didn't come home right away. All of a sudden the front door flies open, and Jenny comes running in screaming that Chris fell and was hurt. I called you guys right away, then came out here to see . . ."

She looked around Roy and, seeing her child unconscious and unmoving on the sidewalk, Johnny placing his hand on Chris' abdomen to count respirations, she started to break down again. Roy shook her gently.

"Joanne? Joanne! What happened next? How did he fall? Where did he fall from?"

"Jenny told me he was walking ahead of her when he ran into Simon Twitty," Joanne spat the name out with disgust. "He knocked Chris down, and apparently Chris hurt his wrist. Simon kicked him when he tried to get up, then he stole Chris' shoes and threw them up on the line."

Roy looked up to see the pair of gym shoes dangling from the wire in the dim light of the streetlamp. After a moment, he looked at his wife again.

"So, how did he fall? You said he fell, but it sounds like he was beat up," Roy said.

Joanne shook her head. "Jenny said after Simon left, Chris . . . he . . . he tried to climb up the phone pole to get his shoes." Her eyes filled with tears again as she recounted what her youngest child had told her. "He got to the first wrung then, I guess he passed out, because Jenny said he just fell."

Finished with her story, and ignoring the fact that the engine crew was standing by them, and a small crowd of neighbours had gathered to watch the spectacle, Joanne burst into tears. Roy held her quietly for a moment as she cried.

"Okay. Jo, honey, go with Captain Stanley," Roy said, taking her face in his hands. "Johnny and I will take care of Chris."

Joanne nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and allowed Captain Stanley to lead her over by the engine. Marco and fellow fire fighter Chet Kelly went over to see if they could assist the paramedics with the child's care.

Johnny knelt by the prone body of the young boy. He tried not to think of who the child was, and stoically assessed the victim. Across the body from him, a little girl he knew as well sat on her knees crying softly and sniffling.

"Jenny," Johnny said quietly. "Why don't you go over to the engine with your mom?"

"He fell, he just fell!" she wailed.

"I know, sweetheart, and your daddy and I will take care of him, but you have to go stand by your mommy right now. She needs you."

Jenny nodded and sniffed. "Okay, Uncle Johnny." She rose on shaky legs, and allowed Marco to lead her over to Joanne. Roy took her place on the sidewalk and looked at his partner.

"What do you think?"

"Well, the wrist could just be badly sprained, but it could be broken," Johnny said. "I'm not detecting any neck or spinal injuries, but I'd still like to put him in a C-collar and strap him to a back board."

Roy nodded, and turned to ask Chet to get the requested equipment, only to see the man was already pulling the backboard out of its compartment on the squad. Soon, he returned with the board, and the trauma box, setting both down beside John.

"Thanks, Chet," Johnny said, and immediately pulled out a C-collar and gently wrapped it around Chris' neck. He had already checked for broken bones and other injuries, and other than the possible broken wrist and bruised midsection, Chris' only other injury was the growing lump on the back of his head.

Chet set up the biophone, and was contacting Rampart while Johnny ministered to Chris. Marco stood by waiting to jump in when needed, and Roy just sat on the sidewalk staring at his son's still face.

"Roy? Roy!"

"Huh?" Roy's head shot up and he faced his partner.

"Roy, why don't you go stand with Jenny and Joanne?" John suggested. "I can handle things here, and I've got Chet and Marco to help if I need it. His vitals are normal, so it's pretty straightforward from here."

Roy nodded mutely, and stood to go. Inwardly he kicked himself for not remaining professional at the scene. Of course, how could he be expected to? How could be possibly be anything other than a parent when his child was lying on the sidewalk unconscious and injured?

He reached his wife and daughter, both of whom fell into his arms. Captain Stanley stood back, watching the family console one another. After a moment, he looked up at the dangling shoes that had caused this mess. Lowering his gaze and shaking his head, he wondered how kids today could be so nasty to each other, and so disrespectful of others' property. The sirens from the approaching ambulance and police cruiser brought the captain out of his reverie. He walked up to Officer Vince Howard, who was just exiting his car.

"What have we got here, Hank?" Vince asked.

Captain Stanley sighed angrily. "Well, apparently, Chris DeSoto was the victim of a bully!"

Vince's eyes got wide. "Oh my God! Is he okay? Roy must be going nuts!"

Hank nodded over to where Roy, Joanne and Jennifer were still huddled together.

"Yeah, can't really blame him, though. According to Jennifer, who saw everything, Chris accidentally ran into this bigger kid, and Chris fell, injuring his wrist. When he tried to stand up, the bully kicked him in the stomach, then stole his tennis shoes, and tossed them up there."

Hank pointed up, and Vince followed his gaze, spying the shoes.

"I guess Chris was afraid his parents would be upset about losing the shoes, so he tried to climb up there to get them, but only made it to the first wrung before he fell," Hank continued. "Jenny ran home and got her mom, who called the fire department."

Vince nodded, and scribbled the information in his notebook.

"Is Chris going to be okay?" he asked.

He and Hank turned to watch Johnny and the ambulance attendance carefully loading the young boy into the ambulance. Hank sighed again.

"I don't know, Vince. He's been unconscious the whole time, I think. Johnny took good care of him, though. Roy was in no condition to help."

Vince nodded. "Do we have a name on the boy who attacked Chris and took his shoes?"

"I don't, but Jenny might know."

The two men walked over to Roy's little group. Marco was with them, and was offering to drive Roy and Joanne to the hospital in the squad.

"That's a good idea, Marco," Captain Stanley said, placing his hand on the man's shoulder. "Ah, Roy, Vince was wondering who the bully was who kicked Chris and stole his shoes. He'd like to ask Jenny, if that's okay."

"Actually, Joanne told me who it was, so I can tell you," Roy said, visibly angry. "It was Simon Twitty. He lives across the street from us, a couple houses down. 5660, I think." Roy pointed in the direction of the Twitty's house.

"Hmmm." Vince flipped a few pages of his notebook. Finding what he wanted, he tapped the page with his pen, nodding. "I thought I recognized this area, _and_ that name! We've responded to several domestic disturbance calls at that residence. I didn't know you lived here, Roy."

"Yeah, the Twitty's are a real charming family, the lot of them," Roy said sarcastically. "We can hear them screaming at each other sometimes, and have seen the police there. Never knew it was you, though, Vince."

"Hmm. Small world," the officer replied, and closed his notebook. "Okay, I'm going to go have a talk with the young man, Simon, you said?"

Roy nodded.

"Yeah, Simon. _And_, his parents. I'll stop by the hospital to see how Chris is doing later, okay, Roy?"

"Yeah, thanks, Vince!" Roy offered his hand to Vince, who took it, and the two men shook. Vince said his farewells to Joanne, Marco and Captain Stanley, and headed off to the all-too familiar Twitty residence.

John came up to the group as Vince left. "Hey, Roy, we're ready to transport," he said, and proceeded to update his friend on the boy's condition. "Chris' vitals are still stable - they haven't changed since we got here. His abdomen is bruised where he was kicked, but it's still soft, so I don't think there's any internal bleeding. I splinted his wrist, and put a bandage on the bump on the back of his head. I'm taking him in, now. Are you okay to drive the squad in?"

"Already covered, John," Hank said. "Marco will be taking care of it."

John nodded, and turned to go, but stopped and went back to Roy and Joanne. "He's gonna be okay, you two, okay?" he said, trying to sound confident.

Roy shook his head, "Johnny, you don't . . ."

Johnny put his hand up to interrupt. "Roy, _believe_ that he will be okay! Alright? I have to go now. I'll see you at the hospital."

Johnny turned back and headed for the ambulance. Roy and Joanne watched silently as he jumped inside, the doors closed behind him, and the ambulance took off, siren wailing, down the street.

Once it had disappeared around the corner, Hank cleared his throat. "Okay, Marco, you're taking the squad in. Roy, Joanne, are you riding with him?"

"I am," Roy said, "but, I don't know . . . Jo? What about Jenny?"

A woman stepped out of the small crowd of people who'd gathered at the scene.

"Joanne? I can take Jenny if you need me to," she offered.

"Oh, thank you, Kathy!" Joanne said, relieved to see the familiar face of her next-door neighbour, then suddenly panicked. "Oh, I don't remember if I locked the front door. I don't even remember if I shut off the stove . . ."

Kathy grabbed Joanne's hands. "Don't worry about a thing, Jo, I'll check on everything for you. I'll shut everything down, put everything away, and lock everything up. Jenny will stay the night with us, so don't worry about that."

Jo's eyes filled with tears again. "Oh, Kath, you're such a great friend!"

The two women embraced, then Kathy broke away, and took Jenny's hand. "Come on, Jenny, let's go pack you an overnight bag."

"We'll call you when we know something about Chris," Roy called after her.

Kathy waved, then she and Jenny disappeared down the street. Roy and Joanne climbed into the squad, and Marco started the engine.

"Everything's going to be okay, Roy, Joanne. You have to believe that!"

"Yeah, Marco, we do believe that," Roy said with a sigh.

Marco nodded, and saying a small, silent prayer, pulled the squad away from the curve. Hank, Mike and Chet watched them go. When they disappeared around the corner, Hank turned to his remaining men.

"Mike, grab a ladder, would you, pal? Chet, I'm gonna have you climb up there and grab those shoes. They're not to far from the pole. You should be able to snag them with a crowbar. Just knock 'em down if you have to."

"Sure thing, Cap," Chet replied, and hurried to get the crow bar.

* * *

Dr. Joe Early, and Head Nurse Dixie McCall met the ambulance carrying the still-unconscious Chris DeSoto at the Emergency Room entrance. 

"Take him to one," Joe instructed, and fell back to walk along side Johnny, while Dixie stayed at the front of the gurney, and held the door of the exam room open for them.

"Any change, John?" Dr. Early asked.

"No, vitals are still the same, he's still unresponsive," Johnny reported as they entered the treatment room. He assisted the ambulance attendants in transferring Chris over to the exam table, and then continued. "His abdomen injury doesn't appear to be any more serious, and the lump on his head isn't any bigger. I'm not sure about his wrist. It might just be badly sprained, but he tried climbing around after he injured it initially, then he fell, so who knows, now?"

The doctor examined the boy's injuries as Johnny mentioned them, humming and nodding in agreement of the paramedic's assessment. Dixie had already taken a new set of vitals, and after hearing them, Dr. Early ordered a myriad of tests and X-rays be done, then he turned back to Johnny.

"How did this all happen, anyway?" he asked.

Johnny snorted. "Neighbourhood bully!" He exclaimed. "According to Jennifer, Chris accidentally bumped into the kid and fell down - that's when he hurt his wrist the first time. The kid kicked him in the stomach before he could stand up, and then stole Chris' new gym shoes and tossed them up on the phone line."

"Oh, yeah," Dixie said. "I've seen tennis shoes hanging by the laces on the lines sometimes when I'm driving home. I always wondered how they got there."

"Now you know," Johnny said disgustedly. "Bullies!"

The adults stood around shaking their heads, each contemplating the nature of bullies, when the X-ray machine arrived to take pictures of Chris' wrist, head, neck and spine. Johnny, Dixie, and Dr. Early exited the room just as Joanne, Roy, and Marco entered the ER.

Hurrying over to the trio, Roy asked, "Any change?"

"No, Roy," Johnny said. "He was fine all the way in. He's still stable. They're taking pictures now."

"I'll know more after I see them," Dr. Early said. "But, we might have to do surgery to repair the wrist. It may not have been too bad when he first hurt it, but climbing around afterwards, then falling again I'm pretty sure did some additional damage."

"Oh, my God!" Joanne exclaimed, and Roy held her tighter to him.

"What about his head injury and his abdomen?" Roy asked.

"Well, the abdomen is bruised, but I don't suspect any internal bleeding. However, I'm having it X-rayed to be sure. As for the head injury, the fact that he's still unconscious does concern me, but again, the X-rays will tell me more."

The group moved aside as the portable X-ray machine was wheeled out of the exam room.

"I'll need those pictures, STAT!" Dr. Early told the technician.

"You got it, doc!" the man replied, and hurried towards the elevator. Dixie immediately went back in the exam room to check on the patient.

"Can we see him?" Joanne asked the doctor.

Dr. Early smiled. "Of course you can, but just for a minute, okay?"

"Okay," a very relieved Joanne said, "thank you."

Roy and Joanne headed inside. Johnny stopped Roy before he went in. "I'd better get back," he said. "Call us, will you?"

Roy nodded, and followed his wife inside.

* * *

The rest of the evening passed slowly and uneventfully. The crew, minus Johnny who'd suddenly lost his appetite, solemnly ate Marco's reheated stew. Afterwards, Tim Henshaw, a paramedic from 36s who came in to replace Roy for the rest of the shift, was helping Chet to undo the knot in Chris' shoelace, and the two planned on cleaning the shoes up a bit before returning them to Roy and Joanne the next day. Chet had managed to flip one shoe off the wire, and the pair had tumbled to the ground, landing in the leaf- and debris-filled gutter. They were dirty, but at least they weren't hanging from a phone line anymore. 

Hank watched the two men struggle with the tight knot without really seeing them, and Marco washed the dinner dishes, humming a familiar hymn under his breath, while Mike Stoker dried them. In the captain's office, Johnny was finally able to complete the run log, including the last one which involved his partner's son. He sighed heavily as he transferred the details from the run sheet to the log. When he finished, he leaned back in the captain's chair, laced his fingers together behind his head, and contemplated the events of the day.

The ringing of the phone startled the young paramedic, and he nearly fell backwards in the chair. By the time he righted himself, someone else had answered the phone. A few moments later, Captain Stanley poked his head in the door; smiling so big Johnny swore he could see every tooth in the man's mouth.

"Good news, pal! Chris woke up just about a half hour ago. He was a little groggy and doesn't remember much about the fall, but Doc Early thinks he'll be fine now! Apparently the X-rays all came back okay, too, oh, except for the wrist, which does require surgery, but Doc didn't think it'd be too bad. So, he's gonna be okay!"

Johnny's grin couldn't have been much bigger than Hank's, but he gave it a good try. "Man, that is fan_tas_tic news, Cap! Hey, you know what? I'm starving! Is there any of Marco's stew left?"

"I dunno, pal, but, if not, I'm sure we can rustle up something," Hank replied, and stepped aside to let his paramedic pass.

Together they walked to the kitchen with matching ear-to-ear grins, and much lighter hearts.

The End

© 2002 lmj (alias hez)


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